i'll be your remedy
by thelittlefanpire
Summary: Different friends keep setting Clarke and Bellamy up on blind dates and this is the third time this has happened so now they're determined to spend the evening figuring out why their friends think they would even like each other.
1. a blind date

_thanks to asroarke for the prompt! & big thanks to the_most_beautiful_broom for all the beta magic love! I've held this fic close to my heart for a really long time and I hope you love it as much as I do! let me know what you think and all your favorite lines! part two should be up soon._

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 **part one : a blind date**

Wells Jaha is the first to suggest a blind date. The words still feel funny on his tongue when he talks to Clarke over the phone one Sunday night: _it's Dad's long-lost son, or I guess my long lost-half brother...anyways I've met him a few times at family functions over the last year, and I think you'd really like the guy._ She just rolls her eyes and ignores him. She loves Wells like he's family—they basically are since they've been best friends their whole life—but she doesn't really want to date his brother.

It's nothing personal, but even though it's been years since Finn, she's really not sure she wants to date anyone. Bruises on her skin faded a lot quicker than bruises on her heart.

Then Lincoln approaches her after a painting class and tells her his girlfriend, has a brother and he's single. Clarke's not really advertising that she looking to date, but Lincoln's known her long enough to know how painfully single she is at the moment. It blows Clarke mind when she realizes how small the world is, and that it's the same guy Wells was trying to set her up with be- fore. But she laughs Lincoln off and tells him she promises to just join Tinder like every other millennial is doing.

Being set up on a blind date by her friends just sounds so antiquated.

So when Raven and Clarke are having their weekly wine night, she decides the fates really must have it out for her. Raven has her phone out, swiping through her Tinder, as Clarke pours them another glass of wine. Clarke's dog, Buddy, wags his tail happily at her and follows her back into the living room.

"Oh my God, yes!" Raven exclaims taking the wine glass back from Clarke.

"What? Did you find a good one?" Clarke asks, settling back into the couch pulling her legs up under her. Buddy hops up onto the couch and curls himself up to Clarke's side.

"I would fuck, marry, and kill this one," Raven jokes and shows Clarke her phone. It's not the best photo, but Clarke guesses it's not the only picture on his profile. The guy has his hands covering most of his face. Clarke can see a smile peeking through his tan fingers and a head full of dark curls.

It's the name that catches her attention though.

She scrambles for her phone beside her on the armrest and sends out a text to both, Wells and Lincoln.

"Oh yeah. He swiped. I'm messaging him," Raven says but Clarke isn't listening to her, waiting for her phone to light up with the texts.

The two text messages come through at the same time. And Buddy pops his head up feeding off of Clarke's nervousness.

"What this guy's name again?" Clarke says slowly, trying to sound nonchalant. She scratches behind her dog's ears to calm them both down, but Raven looks up from her phone at her.

"Bellamy Blake."

Clarke glances down at her lap. She can see the two unread messages and they're reading the same damn thing.

"That's Wells' brother," Clarke whispers.

"This is Papa Jaha's bastard child?" Raven asks in disbelief. She started swiping through more of his pictures to get a better look at him.

Clarke, Raven, and Wells had gone to the same high school together and knew each other well. It was quite the scandal when it came out Thelonious Jaha had a son no one had heard about before. And Raven knew as much as Clarke did about the guy.

"He messaging me back!" Raven says excitedly and places the phone in between them and throws back the rest of her wine. Clarke squints down at the phone trying to read the message, but Raven picks it up first and stands, heading to the kitchen to refill her glass.

"He's free tonight," Raven calls back into the living room, "and wants to meet up in like an hour."

Clarke's stomach flutters for just a moment, before she follows the voice into the kitchen. "Are you really going? On wine night?"

"Nope," Raven says with a huge grin on her face, a grin that Clarke knows well enough to make her nervous as Raven continues typing.

"I'll be wearing," Raven dictates as she types, "jeans with a gray sweater."

Clarke glances down to look over at Raven's yoga pants and t-shirt. She then glances at her own clothes, the ones she hadn't changed out of yet: jeans and the gray sweater.

"Are we changing clothes?" "Nope," Raven says again, with an emphatic pop of the 'p', and the same enormous grin. "The Universe is clearly pulling you two together and as much as I'd love to get laid, I am not going to stand in the way of this."

Clarke wants to protest but she doubts Raven will take no for an answer.

"I'm drunk," she tries.

Raven doesn't even look up before responding, "I'll order you an Uber."

"I'm not ready." "You're already dressed. I'll do your makeup."

"Does he think he's going out with you or me?"

"I'll explain it to him. Come on."

"I can't leave Buddy all night!"

"I'll stay with him until you get back; he'll be fine. You're running out of excuses here, babe."

At some point, it's not worth arguing, so Clarke just relents. Forty-five minutes later, she steps out of her Uber, grateful that she kept her thick gray sweater on, since the night has turned the sunny day into a chilly evening.

Clarke looks up at the cream-colored moon, bursting with fullness then down at stray leaves, the color of mud, littering the streets. The streetlights try to provide little spots of comfort for the pedestrians and the lonely shops try their best to do the same. The café on Main is casting a faint glow onto the sidewalk and voices float out if it on waves of music and laughter, down the street.

And there she stands, stuck by the corner café.

Clarke's body is frozen in place, her bright blue darting from side to side, waiting. She's not even sure what for. Perched on the sidewalk, she muses that she probably looks like a simple woman waiting for a cab or for a lover.

From a distance, no one would notice how her mascara stains her cheeks with black and how her body hunches every few moments in pain. Like most women, she has her share of secrets. It's the main reason Clarke had declined the blind date the first two times; she's not above ad- mitting that she's terrified to put herself out there.

Not again.

Not after last time.

After many moments passed, Clarke gathers herself, steadies herself, and finds the strength and courage to abruptly turn around, and walk into the café.

She slips into the busy shop, sitting down at an out of the way table, away from the path of bustling waitresses and busboys. People are huddled in booths and around the café bar, ask- ing for coffees and pastries to ward off the chill, and Clarke makes herself ignore them all. She pulls a compact out from her purse, smearing the mascara from under her eyes and trying to smooth her windblown hair. When she's somewhat satisfied with the face blinking back at her from the small mirror, she calls the waitress over to her table and orders a cappuccino.

The warm liquid calms her nerves and she pulls the last of her resolve together, just as the café doorbell rings to announce another patron.

At first, Clarke's too busy willing herself to calm down to notice him. She's chanting over and over in her head that it will all be alright, that nothing could hurt as badly as last time, that she has to take a chance sooner or later. But then she _does_ notice him, and is surprised she didn't sooner.

He's a large, husky sort of guy with muscular arms and a head full of curly black hair, and Clarke wonders if it's wishful thinking that has her thinking he looks like the guy she's waiting for. His face is darkened from the dim lighting and she's can't exactly make out who he is or what purpose he has there.

She swallows some more of her coffee, scalding her tongue and throat. She winces and pushes her hair to the side, glancing at her phone to remind herself what her date is supposed to be wearing. If this isn't her guy, maybe the mysterious stranger won't notice her...

But he's wearing a dark button down and khaki pants, just like Raven had said, and his eyes stop scanning the room as they land on her. With a steady pace, the man makes his way over to her table, pulling off his beanie.

And when he gets closer, he smiles.

It's like something inside of Clarke just relaxes at the sight. His smile stretches across his whole face and his brown eyes twinkle in the light, and her nerves just melt away.

"Are you Clarke Griffin?" The man asks in a rough voice, deeper than she'd expected. Even though she doesn't say anything, he continues talking easily, "I'm Bellamy. Bellamy Blake. I believe we have a date?"

Clarke straightens in her seat and holds out her hand to the man. "Uh, yes. I guess we do. Please, sit."

Bellamy cautiously sits down across from her, unsure of the woman before him. She looks like someone who really doesn't want to be here, her face filled with worry lines and faint traces of smudged eyeliner.

They sit in an awkward silence for a while, studying the other, sizing them up, too stubborn to admit that that's what they're doing. Clarke crosses her arms over her chest and Bellamy casually leans back in his chair.

"Thanks for meeting me here," he tries, and Clarke makes herself breathe. She can do this, she can do this. She offers him a hesitant smile.

"Sure," she manages.

If Bellamy is put off by her silence, he covers nicely for it. "I didn't really know where to go and I hadn't had dinner yet."

"They have the best chicken fried steak in the county," Clarke says, and Bellamy raises an eyebrow.

"You're the authority on that?"

Clarke points behind him in lieu of an answer, and he reads the gaudy sign above the coffee bar. When he turns back to her, his eyes are amused, and he considers her for a moment. "So," he again breaks the silence, "Raven is the one who messaged me on Tinder and she's your...?"

"Best friend," Clarke supplies, "Well, one of them at least."

"She must be a good friend, if you came here for her," he says softly, and when Clarke tilts her head in confusion, his eyes are equally gentle. "You look like it's taking everything in you to not run."

Clarke isn't quite sure how to respond to that, so she just snaps her mouth shut, before looking away. "She's a good friend," she says pointedly, and Bellamy gets the unspoken message: _we're not touching backstory yet._

He looks like he understands, and raises a hand to catch the attention of a waitress, who makes a sign like she'll be over when she can, but it might take a couple of minutes.

"Well, I'm glad you came," he says lightly, "I saw your Tinder profile, too."

"Wells is your his half-brother."

It's not her best transition, and it's a statement rather than a question, but Bellamy still nods in response. Then something like realization flashes over his face.

"Clarke Griffin," he snaps his fingers, looking pleased with himself, "You're Wells' best friend. I knew your name sounded familiar."

The waitress, a stout older woman, finally makes it back over to their table. She leans down on the table with her pad and pen, striking up a conversation as effortlessly as breathing, joking with Bellamy about his beautiful date. To his credit, he agrees with her, sending another dis- arming smile at Clarke, and she can't do anything but give him another hesitant smile back.

He orders two ham sandwiches, a piece of cake and a Danish roll, and Clarke isn't surprised. He's a massive man and his stomach probably would agree with her.

She chuckles at him when he asks for a beer. The waitress gives him a stern look and reminds him that this is a coffee house, not a bar, which Clarke takes as her cue to interject. She orders a pot of coffee, still feeling a little woozy from the wine she and Raven had shared earlier, and she needs to clear her head.

"So," Clarke asks once the waitress finally leaves, "do you have any other siblings you didn't know about?"

Bellamy laughs shortly. "No, just Wells. I have a sister, Octavia, but we grew up together."

There's a fondness on his face when he talks about her, and Clarke is touched by the amount he clearly cares for his sister.

"She's Theo's too," he says quietly and Clarke has a hard time imaging Thelonious Jaha with a daughter.

"Augustus had a sister," Clarke says, and immediately wishes she could bite her tongue. She doesn't know where the trivia came from, but she chances a glance at Bellamy, and he's smiling at that.

"He sure did."

The food comes then, suspiciously quick, and Clarke can feel Bellamy's eyes on her as he eats. To steady herself, she pours herself some coffee, not bothering with sugar or cream, realizing that conversation falls to her, now that he's eating.

"Lincoln tried to set us up, too," she blurts.

Bellamy stops mid-chew and stares at her. "You know Octavia's boyfriend?"

"Yeah, we met at an art class a few years ago..." she trails off, when she notices that Bellamy's expression has shifted from surprised to disapproving.

"He's a decent guy. You don't like him?"

"He a great guy. But he's way too old for my sister."

"Lincoln is a couple of years older than me. Wait, how old is your sister?"

"She's twenty-one."

Clarke chokes on her coffee.

"I thought Jaha...you're older than Wells?" Clarke knows it might be rude to ask, but she has so many questions. She was under the impression Jaha had a previous relationship before he was with Wells' mom.

"Apparently, my old man liked to have his cake and eat it too," Bellamy says, his tone telling how poorly the information sits with him.

"But Wells said you guys didn't know about each other until like last year when Mrs. Jaha passed away?"

Bellamy pushes his food around on his plate. "I don't know what Wells or his father knew, but my mom always told me our dad choose to live a different life. It was pretty hard to hear how he had a whole other family, but didn't want us."

Clarke doesn't know what to say. Wells doesn't like to talk too much about his family since the news had broken; she'd always understood, but now even more so.

"I'm sorry," she says simply, the words feeling shallow, but necessary. "I can't really imagine how that must feel. Jaha's always been like a second dad to me and...oh, God. That probably doesn't make you feel any better," Clarke buries her head in her hands in embarrassment.

"Hey, you're fine," Bellamy pulls her hands away from her face, with another slight smile. He shrugs, trying to make light of it. "It definitely would've hurt if I was fifteen, but I've gotten used to it."

The conversation pivots after that, back to her art class and the new hiking trail Bellamy had found recently. And...it's nice. Clarke finds herself relaxing more and more, finding comfort in the lilt of Bellamy's voice, and the unassuming way he talks. At the next lag in conversation, Bellamy rises from his chair, throws a few bills on the table, and reaches for Clarke's hand.

"Let's go down to the Tipsy Casa," he suggests.

"The what?" Clarke asks, staring at his hand, then the earnest expression on his face.

"The Tipsy Casa. It's this little-hidden music venue with drinks, tapas, and all the newest talents. I'm sure we can find something better for you to drink than that coffee."

Clarke almost laughs at his enthusiasm and Bellamy seems proud of himself for getting that reaction from her. She doesn't take his hand as she gets out of the booth, but she doesn't protest when his hand settles lightly in the small of her back as they make their way out of the restaurant. At his light touch, just a little more of her defenses lower.

The Tipsy Casa, Clarke learns, is a small and quaint Spanish music bar under a flower shop— yes, a flower shop. Though it's out of season for most flowers, the florist has a neat row of flowers tucked into cooling units along the front section of the shop. Intense fragrances filled the air and the lights are dim, casting a foggy glow on the room. With no one around, Bellamy plucks up a pair of violets and slides one behind Clarke's ear.

Clarke looks up into Bellamy's face and wonders why he wouldn't go with something more traditional, more expected. Roses, peonies, something like that.

Bellamy gives her a bashful smile in response. "They look like the color of your eyes. Roses are red and violets are..." he trails off and points to the blue flower. "Violet means delicate beauty."

He means it as a compliment, not that she's weak, but it's been so long since Clarke's been sincerely complimented, that it takes her a moment to convince herself that he means it. But she looks up at his expression, at the wonder and appreciation there, and she lets out a shaky breath.

"Um, thanks," she says softly, reaching up to steady the flower in her hair, and tries to think of something to distract herself with. "What do the others mean?"

Bellamy beams at her, before turning to point to the flowers. "White roses for purity, yellow for zeal, and red for passion. The greatest flower the gods ever created."

"Roses?"

"Red ones, yeah. The peony, though, came from Paeon, physician to the gods. He angered his teacher, the god of medicine and healing, and Zeus saved him by turning him into a beautiful peony. Violets have about ten different myths associated with them..."

As he rambled on, pointing at different flowers, Clarke's mind flew to her mother's garden. Abby would probably disapprove of her date tonight, and that thought made Clarke step a little closer to Bellamy.

"You really know your Greek mythology, huh?" she asks, when he stops between flower beds. He smiled, and shrugged, a gesture like he wasn't anything special. Which, she could already tell, wasn't true.

As they walk down the stairs and enter the bar, Clarke absently twirls the violets between her fingers. The night is going wonderfully for a first date, a blind date at that.

The smoky room is intimate with wine bottles filled with dripping candles on the tables, the only other light coming from a beam of light on the tiny platform which housed the band. Bellamy leads them towards a booth in the back, sliding into one side, clearly giving her room for her choice. Which makes up her mind for her; she slides in next to him on the weather-beaten wood bench, leaning into his side.

As the musicians near the end of their set, they slow down the tempo of the music, and a flamenco dancer comes into the room. The guitarist plucks at the strings of his guitar and the dancer's movements are measured and unhurried, her arms rising up and twisting as she moves about the room. The tempo of the music picks up and it becomes much more sensual as the dancer stretches out her body, arching her back, every movement intentional and beautiful.

"It's breathtaking," Clarke whispers, mesmerized by the way the dancer moves. She takes a sip of her sangria, and feels Bellamy's eyes on her.

When she glances up at him, his eyes are smoldering, and she flushes at the intensity in them. His beautiful smile pops up and she feels herself spiraling out of the calm and collected control she always has.

"It's pretty hot in here, right?" Bellamy asks raising his voice so Clarke can hear him over the music. She can see sweat beading on his brow, but she knows he doesn't just mean it like that, and all she can do is nod in agreement. Bellamy helps her stand up and they go to retrieve their things.

Clarke trails behind Bellamy as he leads the way up the stairs and back into the flower shop, their fingers lacing together. As they near the door, Bellamy pulls back suddenly, hissing, and Clarke looks down to see that he caught his finger on one of the bushes.

"And there's another reason for not giving you a rose," he mutters, inspecting his finger once they're outside, "thorns."

The night air is cool, and her head should be cooler too, but Clarke is amazed to find that none of the heat from inside the cantina has gone. She can't believe how attracted she is to this man —a man she barely knows, a man she wanted to know.

Carefully, she reaches for his injured hand. His hands are almost comically larger than her own, but something about holding it feels right.

"Thorns protect the rose, Bellamy," she says, after a moment.

She can feel his eyes on her again, and when she looks up to meet them, he's smiling that same smile again: wide, unhurried, beautiful.

They walk down the concrete steps of the florist and wander for a while, not needing anymore words. When they reach a crossroads, Bellamy clears his throat.

"My apartment's to the left," he says, unspoken words speaking volumes.

Clarke looks up at him, blue eyes meeting brown, and she squeezes the fingers in her own lightly, smiling before she rests her head on his shoulder and speaking softly. "Left it is, then."


	2. the next day

_I really vomited all of my insecurities over the years into this. #sorrynotsorry and then the_most_beautiful_broom came in a wrecked me with her lovely additions. this is filled with lots of angst and mentions of abuse and miscarriage. let me know what you think!_

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 **part two : the next day**

Clarke doesn't want to open her eyes.

The sun is streaming through the window, warming the room; she stretches out her legs over the soft cotton of the sheets, stopping when she feels the body next to her. She cautiously stretches out her hand, running her fingers along his back and up to the curls on his head. The sleepy figure next to her grunts and rolls towards her, his hot breath panting in her face.

"Morning, sleepyhead," she smiles at him.

He licks her face.

Buddy begins wagging his tail happily at her and she raises her arms over her head to fully stretch out her body. Her dog does the same, pushing his paws into her side and then promptly falling back asleep.

Clarke can't blame him; it was a long night.

She had made her way home from Bellamy's at nearly four in the morning, wishing she could have stayed with him but knowing she shouldn't. She'd found Raven asleep on the couch and Buddy asleep on Raven, but apparently he'd switched pillows in the night, and was more than happy to doze in her room.

A loud knock from the front of the house jolts Buddy awake, and Clark stumbles out of bed to answer it. A quick look through the peephole and Clarke slides the deadbolt back; it's Wells.

"Good morning, Clarke," Wells grins, his voice entirely too cheerful for the early hour, "Hey, Buddy. You ready for our run?"

He shoulders his way into the house, leaning down to scratch the dog's head. Clarke's head follows him automatically, but his words take a minute to register.

"Our run?" she echoes, and Wells brushes past her into the living room, an amused look on his face. "To be honest, I completely forgot. Can I get a rain check?"

Wells is still moving though; he swipes a pillow from the couch and tosses it at Raven.

"I'm awake," comes a grumble from the couch, and Wells grins.

"That's a 'no' to you Clarke," Wells says, his voice still bright, "and Raven, you should come with."

Wells is gone already, ducking into the kitchen to get some water bottles, and Raven and Clarke exchange a look of defeat.

Reluctantly, Clarke slips back into her room, throwing on jogging pants and a baggy t-shirt before scrubbing the remnants of last night's makeup off her face. In the other room, she can hear Raven grumbling, and rooting around for her tennis shoes.

Wells pulls out some water bottles from the refrigerator and waits for Clarke and Raven to get ready. Raven slips on her tennis shoes and goes to find Buddy's leash.

When she walks back into the kitchen, Clarke has to smile at the sight of Wells, leaning up against the counter. He's such a good guy, with a good face and shoulders too. Tall and well-built, with his dark curly hair cut short and his face clean-shaven, he always looks so confident and sure of himself.

 _He looks a lot like his brother._

The thought flies into Clarke's mind unbidden, but she realizes it's true.

Not necessarily in looks, but in the way the two of them carry themselves. It was a confidence, an easiness, a kindness that's almost indescribable.

She's thankful for such a good friend in Wells. In another life, she imagines the two of them would have been the perfect match—both from powerful families in Arkadia, both smart and quick, both driven— but they've always loved each other as friends, and neither of them have ever wanted anything else.

She knows she doesn't need an excuse, but the rush of gratitude has her reaching for him, and Wells doesn't think, his arms automatically opening to pull her into a hug. After a moment, his grip on her tightens, before he pulls back to look down at her, concerned.

"Everything okay?"

It is, but then it isn't. Because Wells is okay and they're okay, but she also wants to tell him about her night, but doesn't know how he'll react. She's always felt she can share everything with Wells: her hopes, dreams, desires, everything. But she's not sure what he'll say now that she actually had gone out with his brother. So she tries to give him a reassuring smile, squeezing his waist.

"Everything's okay," she parrots into his chest.

Raven choses that moment to come into the kitchen, chasing Buddy with his leash. It's always a funny dance—Buddy wants so badly to go for a walk/run that he doesn't understand that he has to sit still for them to get the leash on his collar—and when she's successful, Raven lets out a triumphant whoop, that Buddy echoes with an excited bark.

"So," Raven's eyes are flashing, and Clarke has a hard time believing that this same girl was completely out on the couch not even ten minutes ago, "how far are we running?"

"A couple miles, maybe three," Wells says casually, and Clarke groans, reaching for one of the water bottles.

Raven tilts her head. "Okay so are we not going to talk about the elephant in the room?"

Clarke sets the water down carefully; she'd been perfectly fine ignoring it, but it looks like that isn't an option anymore.

"Clarke didn't come home until the sun was waking up," Raven says conspiratorially, and Wells whistles, turning back to her.

"Clarke Griffin, did you go on a date?"

And there are a dozen things she can say to that, but the one that slips out when she looks back up at Wells is a quiet, "You didn't tell me you had a sister, too."

That lands exactly like she thought it would, and Wells takes a second to soak in what it means.

"You went out with Bell?" he asks after a beat, pausing, mulling over the thought of his best friend and half-brother, his expression unreadable. "How did that happen?"

"Fate happened," Raven fills in, when Clarke doesn't reply, her voice chipper, "I'm pretty sure they're soulmates." She leans over to grab a water bottle from Wells and begins to share with him her version of last night.

As Raven chatters, Clarke feels Wells' eyes on her. When she looks up again, she can now read his expression: it's the same look he had every time he picked her up from the hospital after Finn 'lost control'. Every time Finn promised he'd never do it again, and swore he loved her.

Wells was worried.

But he shouldn't be.

Clarke doesn't know how she knows, but she knows: Bellamy is different. So insanely different, and she's never been more sure of anything in her life. Pulling her mind back to the present, she shakes her head at the floor, letting Wells know she's fine.

"...I mean, when they get married you'll seriously be brother and sister so I don't know what else to tell you," Raven is wrapping up, but then she stops suddenly, turning to Clarke. "Wait, what's this about a sister?"

Wells grabs Raven by the shoulders and turns her around toward the door, his voice soothing. "Alright, thanks for that, Ray. And yeah, I do have a sister, but nobody panic. I've only met O once, but you two are always gonna be my favorite girls."

"That's sweet," Raven says snidely, even as she's propelled towards the door, dragging Buddy with her. "What's O for? Ophelia? Olivia?"

Clarke opens her mouth to respond, but then she catches the glint in Wells' eyes.

"Guess again," he says, and Clarke hides a laugh.

As she heads out behind them, she's grateful for the distraction. She loves her friends, but maybe this thing with Bellamy is something she wants to keep to herself for a bit. For now, at least.

Outside, they walk for a bit, stretching lightly, conversation dancing. Then Wells cocks his head to the side and they start in at a steady pace, and Clarke let her friends carry the conversation.

Last year, she'd mentioned how uncomfortable she was with her weight, and Wells had automatically volunteered to help. They'd started off slowly, just walking the trails by the park and then they'd moved on to jogging, and then finally reached running. It was murderous for Clarke, having been out of shape for so long. She's finally getting the hang of it within the last year, and she loves that her friends keep her company, but all the same, she still feels awful by the time they wrap up the three miles today.

Her thighs and calves burning and her lungs aching, Clarke plops down on the grass, her eyes closing in relief. In a show of solidarity, Buddy collapses next to her, but his happily wagging tail betrays him.

Of course, Raven is bouncing on the balls of her feet, her skin barely glistening, and Wells lowers himself gracefully to sit next to her, his breath barely winded.

Clarke squints up at them, looking like they should be on the cover of any sports magazine, and scowls. "I hate you both," she grumbles, and Wells laughs.

"We love you, too."

She knows that they know she doesn't mean it, and obviously she's the lucky one to have friends like them but...it's still hard. They both put in work to be as toned and sculpted and as perfect as they are, but a part of Clarke wishes that she does too. She tries, she runs, she sweats and she will never look like they do.

Clarke doesn't mean for her expression to turn morose, but she feels Wells' hand on her shoulder, so she knows she's pretty transparent.

"Oh, come on, Clarke; you're just too hard on yourself."

"I know," she mumbles, and she does: she's healthy and she's fine and that should be all that matters...but that doesn't make it easier when her friends look like they could be the face of a Nike campaign.

"Hey," Raven adds, her voice equal parts gentle and teasing, "seeing as you didn't come home last night, I don't think you have anything to worry about with that body of yours."

Clarke groans, her hands covering her face at her friend's antics, but also not wanting to share last night's moments with Bellamy's brother. It's too much.

"So," Raven continues, unbothered, "how was it with...Oprah's brother?"

"No!" Wells and Clarke both exclaim emphatically, and the moment is drowned out as Raven continues to guess.

Later that afternoon, after Raven and Wells have left, Clarke pulls the scale out from under the sink in the bathroom.

The number climbs and she holds her breath.

 _Please…please...please..._

The number holds.

Clarke clenches her fists, trying to remind herself it's just a number. She wishes this weren't a ritual, checking her weight on the scale after a run. But it is. And she just can't understand it. After weeks of running, crunches, and weightlifting, she hasn't lost a pound, not after the initial weight loss. Not since the twenty pounds since she left Finn, and started working out with Wells.

Everyone said the last five pounds would be the hardest, but she never thought they'd be this hard. She's done all the diets, all the green tea, protein, fasting, everything. Those last five just refused to move.

Sighing, Clarke steps off the scale, heading back into her room and telling herself that her feet are falling just as loudly as normal, and she doesn't sound like she's stomping. She goes to fling herself on her bed, but decides the better option is the floor—she's sweaty anyways, and this way she can do sit-ups instead of pretending her stomach isn't soft under her fingers when she feels it. After a few reps, she's drenched in sweat, and her stomach is aching, and she tells herself that now it's okay to shower.

The lukewarm water cools her skin and softens some of the tension in her body, but does nothing to calm her mind.

Raven and Wells mean well, they always do, but the one voice in her head will always be louder than their kind voices. A voice she's conditioned herself to hear, a voice she can never ignore, a voice that isn't her own and a voice that's taken everything she ever held close to herself, her family, love, her confidence.

It's Finn Collins' voice, and even a year after she's left him, he still won't leave her.

She realizes that the water has gone cold and she reaches over to shut it off, suddenly too tired to leave the bathroom. She slides down the cool tile, sitting in the bathtub, her head resting on cold granite.

Without thinking, her hand lifts to her stomach, fingers pruned over the soft skin. The empty skin.

She hadn't thought she wanted a child, not after her own unhappy childhood. She'd never wanted to bring a baby into the world, didn't want something so pure and beautiful to be hurt like she was. Then she'd found out she was pregnant…

Clarke's eyes squeeze shut as she remembers the rush of joy. The wonder with which she'd held the test, the feeling of unexpected emotion as she spread her hands wonderingly over her stomach. For a moment, she'd been elated.

Then she'd looked down at her arm, seen the bruises there, and her heart had choked with fear.

She had born everything until that moment, every splintered word that Finn had whispered over her, every careful bruise he'd left on her skin, she'd endured. But in that moment, she knew she no longer could. Because a blow to her might hurt her child, and what if that baby heard, somehow, the horrible things he hissed at her?

She'd started planning then.

How to tell him, how to leave.

In the end, she didn't get the chance. A bad game of poker, a heavy bottle of vodka, and Finn had come home ready to fight. He didn't know about the baby in her stomach, just knew that his fists against her body made him laugh, and he didn't stop until she lay still. Clarke had driven herself to the hospital once he'd passed out in a drunken stupor. The nurses fixed her collarbone and she made them swear not to tell anyone about the baby. Not when there was no longer a baby to tell of.

Wells had held her when he came to the hospital, careful of her bruises and her body, but having no idea of the extent of the pain that Finn Collins had caused her.

The granite is cold and the water on her skin is cold and Clarke realizes her cheeks are wet with warm water, and by the time she realizes she's crying, she's sobbing. Her body shakes with cries, with sobs that wrench their way out of her and she makes herself climb out of the tub. Her body aches from the stiff position and Clarke drags herself to her bed.

She's exhausted.

Physically, from crying and from the run. Emotionally, from holding herself up for so long. But then there's this, this thing about her weight and how she looks and how she feels and how she can't tell anybody because she doesn't know if they'll understand…

 _And then there's Bellamy._

Bellamy who looks at her and sees her. Sees who she is and not who she was, looks at her like no one does once they know about Finn.

Clarke's eyes fall closed and she lets the memories of last night wash over her.

When they had made it to Bellamy's apartment, they'd paused on his doorstep. His eyes searched hers for any hesitation; finding none, he cradled her face and leaned down for a kiss. She'd leaned into him, wanting to be closer, embracing the passion of their kiss as it intensified.

Thinking of it now, a smile ghosts across her lips.

When he'd touched her, she hadn't thought of skin.

She hadn't thought of her scars, or imperfections, or where she was stretched or where she felt too much. She'd only been thinking of him. Of how he felt, how hungry his mouth felt, yet how soft. How her skin had burst into flame under his touch, how his eyes had worshipped her, then his hands, then his tongue.

If she opens her eyes to look down at herself, Clarke knows she'll see the worst of her blemishes along her stomach. Long and short, faint and dark, deep and wide, stretched across her stomach.

But with her eyes closed, she doesn't see them. Just Bellamy's fingertips ghosting over her hips, gripping to her tightly when he came. His hot and heavy hands on her, all of her, like he couldn't get enough of her.

With her eyes open, she might see the lines on her thighs and calves, the newest and most recent ones to join the rest on her body, bright and vivid, all along the inside of her thighs. Mocking her.

But with her eyes closed, she can all but feel Bellamy's body pressing up behind her, holding onto her. His strong arms wrapped around her arms, guiding her hand down between her legs, his deep voice asking her to turn around...

He'd called her beautiful.

Seen the scars, seen the stretches, seen the parts of her that she couldn't hide with her clothes in piles on the floor.

And called her beautiful.

Clarke turns her head, finally opening her eyes, searching for the mirror next to her bed. In it, she sees fire in her icy blue eyes. Mirrors are never easy for her, not since Finn, but Clarke holds her own eyes in it this time, daring herself to see clearly, just once. To see the woman Bellamy saw.

Maybe one of these days she'll see her again, but she knows it's a long process and a slow one, towards self-love.

Clarke refuses to lower her eyes to her body, knowing that's how she loses this battle, and reaches for a t-shirt. Soft cotton covers soft skin, and she's safe, at least for now.

Hidden in cotton and comfort, Clarke lies back down on her bed. The comforter is damp from her wet hair, and she feels the mattress dip when Buddy jumps up on the bed beside her. He curls up into her back, and Clarke is grateful for the warmth.

She doesn't plan on sleeping, but the next thing she knows, her phone is ringing loudly, interrupting dreams of violets and sangria. She's face down in her pillows and she tries to search for her phone with one arm.

"Hello?" she says sleepily, her voice bleary.

"Hey! It's Bellamy."

Sleep flies away.

Clarke's eyes snap open in surprise, and she pushes herself up. She'd kind of assumed that last night was a one-night stand type of thing; she wasn't the sort of girl that got happily ever after's.

Clarke cradles the phone between her ear and shoulder, trying to find a diplomatic way to say just that. "I didn't think you would call."

A deep laugh echoes over the phone, and Clarke finds she's smiling without even meaning to.

"What kind of guy do you think I am?" Bellamy's voice is light, teasing.

"Well," Clarke teases right back, "you did technically hit up Raven on Tinder."

"Yeah, that's why I'm calling."

Her breath catches at his words, wondering what he could possibly mean by that.

"I wanted to see if I could take you out on a proper date. Pick you up and all."

He says it on a rush, but Clarke can hear the smile in his voice and she sighs in relief.

"I'd like that," she says simply, wondering if he knows just how much she means it.

"Text me your address and I'll pick you up at eight?"

Clarke agrees and they hang up. She immediately texts him her details and then falls back onto her bed; Buddy cuddles up to her side and licks her face.

"Yeah, I know," she says quietly to the dog, "He kinda makes me happy."

Clarke had had Buddy before Finn; he'd been with her through everything. Through the bruises, through the shouting, Buddy would always come to her after Finn had left. He'd sit next to her, letting her cry into his wooly fur coat, take her time in putting herself back together.

They were both happier these days.

She lets herself linger for a moment longer, before pulling herself out of bed. She runs her hair under the faucet in the bathroom so she can properly dry and style it. She has plenty to do throughout the rest of her day, but she finds her thoughts are never far from warm brown eyes, and she keeps glancing at the clock without meaning too.

At five minutes to eight, she hears a car pull into the driveway, but doesn't move from the couch. Beside her, Buddy perks up, before hopping off the couch and running to the porch.

From her seat, Clarke has a perfect view of the stairs and porch; usually about now is when she'd call Buddy off, tell him to step down and trust whoever is coming. Chesapeake retrievers are pretty affectionate by nature, but they're also fairly protective. Clarke's needed that trait in the past, and tonight, she wonders what Buddy will think of her date.

She hears the crunch of shoes on gravel, and then the swing of a car door shutting. Buddy hears it too, his head tilting as he sniffs from behind the screen door.

They both watch as Bellamy approaches the bottom of the stairs, surprised when he sees the shadow of a massive dog behind the door.

Bellamy doesn't falter, continues up the steps, very much aware of the dog, but also trusting him. Buddy lets out a gentle growl, nothing aggressive, just a _hey I don't know you; should you be here?_ growl, and Bellamy laughs slightly.

"Yeah, buddy," his low voice carries, "I'd be protective of her too."

Clarke isn't sure whether it's the voice or the tone or the man or the causal use of her dog's name, but Buddy stops growling. His tail rises and starts wagging, and Clarke's heart warms.

Her dog sees a friend.

She rises from the couch, heading to undo the door and give the two a proper introduction. Her smile is warm when she opens the door. Buddy's approval means the world to her, because it confirms everything she'd thought last night: maybe Bellamy Blake is exactly the kind of man she should let into her life.


	3. a soft epilogue

I think we deserve a soft epilogue, my love. We are good people and we've suffered enough.

2199 Days Later

Bellamy Blake sat at the edge of the king size bed, his legs bouncing nervously under the weight of his resting arms. His large hands were holding a delicate handwritten letter. He read it over once, and then twice, before picking up the two violets that has been pressed between the pages. The petals were dry and their color had faded with age.

"My dearest Bellamy," he read aloud. "You have loved all of my broken pieces and patiently waited for me to mend myself back together over the years. From the first night I met you, I have felt safe in your arms. May I always be your rock, like you have been mine. In each other, may we always find a home. And today, may we promise forever."

Bellamy whispered the word forever again and placed the violets back between the pages. He heard the snap of a camera and looked up. He had forgotten about the photographer in the room. The one who had brought him the letter. The photographer Abby Griffin had hired for the day.

"That's great. Can I get one with you with your jacket on now?" The photographer asked.

Bellamy sighed and rose up from the bed, folding the letter and placing it in his pocket, before slipping on the jacket of his tuxedo. He looked in the mirror across the room and ran his hands through his hair. His bride-to-be always told him how she liked it messy, the messier the better. Which wasn't hard for Bellamy to pull off. His curly hair was always in a disarray. Especially today.

He felt a flutter in his stomach as he thought of his bride-to-be and what she was doing right now. Getting ready in the upstairs bridal suite. He could only imagine how beautiful she looked.

When the photographer was satisfied with the amount of pictures she had of Bellamy getting ready, he followed her out to the backyard.

The house was crowded with caterers and guests. Food was being prepared in the kitchen and drinks were being served in the living room. Bellamy and the photographer parted ways. He went out the back door unnoticed and she went up to the bridal suite.

Thankfully, the backyard wasn't as busy. A few early guests were peppered around. Some were already seated and a few stood by chatting away with one another. Bellamy stepped down from the back porch and made his way down the aisle.

The pastor that had agreed to marry Bellamy and Clarke, greeted him under the big oak tree.

"Looking sharp, Mr. Blake," the pastor said shaking Bellamy's hand firmly.

"Nice to see you, sir," Bellamy said and turned to look around the backyard.

He stood under a large oak tree with the pastor. The oak leaves were still a lush green with only a few of the tips turning yellow in the mid September heat. The tree was providing the only shade in the whole backyard. The trunk of the tree was wide and its branches twisted up high into the sky.

Rows upon rows of chairs were lined up with white rose petals covering the aisle running down the middle of the yard. A baby's breath wreath hung behind him on the tree and more were placed on big wine barrels scattered around the lawn, and on the back doors to the house.

The house. Bellamy scoffed under his breath when he looked up at the house.

It was a large white estate that was three stories high. It had more bedrooms than Bellamy could count. Two full size kitchens. A study. A basement. Bellamy wasn't sure what else the house might hold.

And it was completely unnecessary.

But as had been the case with the photographer, Clarke's mother wasn't thrilled with her daughter's original wedding plans. She'd had taken it upon herself to obtain only the best Arkadia had to offer for the big day; the total wedding cost had to be outrageous.

If it was up to Bellamy, they would have just eloped in Greece, since that's where they were going for their honeymoon.

But, at the end of the day, it wasn't up to him. So he stood under the shade provided by the oak tree in a itchy tuxedo and waited for the ceremony to begin.

At a quarter to four o'clock, a violinist came out of the house and set up his things at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the house. As he began to play, guests started to pour in from everywhere and take their seats. Bellamy waved at the familiar faces of his friends and co-workers.

When the music changed, Wells was the first out of the house. He was linked arm-in-arm escorting Aurora and Abby, down the aisle; Thelonious followed closely behind them. Wells gave a small kiss on both of the mothers' hands before leading them to their seats. The parents all sat down together, an odd sight to Bellamy.

Abby had been close friends with Mrs. Jaha and had had a hard time accepting Bellamy and his family. But it was Jaha himself who had brought her around, and she had eventually warmed up to the idea. Family. They were all family now. After the loss of Clarke's father a few years earlier, Abby had learned to embrace the ones she still had around her.

Bellamy looked at his father. Theo had aged considerably since reuniting with Bellamy and Octavia. He had shaved his balding head and his beard was filled with gray. He placed his arm around Aurora's shoulder as she quietly cried into a handkerchief Abby had given her. Theo beamed up at him proudly. He had missed so much of his son's life, by choice, but he was here now. Bellamy didn't feel any of the bitterness he use to toward the man; he was just glad he wanted to be here now.

Wells stood across from Bellamy as Clarke's best man, a tuxedo to match Bellamy's and a smug look on his face. Bellamy returned the smile. He respected the hell out of Wells; Clarke's relationship with Wells made it easy for the two men to get to know each other over the years. It was almost like breathing now.

Octavia came out of the house next, a vision in a flowing purple dress, her long hair pulled back and a small bouquet of flowers in her hands. She giggled at him when she passed to stand behind him as his Best Woman. Octavia had immediately taken to Clarke when Bellamy had first introduced the women years ago. Now they were thick as thieves, and it warmed Bellamy's heart to see his little sister so loved.

Bellamy looked out at the garden, to where his father, mother, Clarke's mother and all of their other friends and family. It wasn't a crowd, but it was everyone who mattered. The ones who had been there, and who had impacted them throughout their relationship and in life. The sight and the thought made Bellamy choke up a little.

He took a deep breath, wiping his palms on his slacks when the violinist changed the melody. As Canon in D began to play, the small crowd rose from their seats and turned.

Bellamy didn't notice the bouquet of baby's breath and violets in her hands. He didn't see the tiny details of lace the entwined her dress, or how her long blonde hair was curled and held together by more baby's breath in a braid down her back. Even the faces of the crowd, the eyes and smiles he knew so well, faded as Bellamy focused on his bride.

He only saw the glow from Clarke's blue eyes, brimming with tears. Her rosy cheeks, the soft smile on her lips, the steadiness of her step, as she walked down the aisle towards him.

Bellamy chuckled to himself when he finally noticed Buddy trotting beside her. The ring dog had on a bow tie and carried a black box in his mouth. His tail wagged happily as he escorted his best friend down the aisle.

Bellamy wiped his palms again on his slacks before taking hold of Clarke's hands when she made it to the end of the aisle.

"Hey," Clarke whispered to him.

"Hey," he whispered back.

They said the traditional vows and added a few personal touches. Clarke was more eloquent with her words then he was with his. He could feel the weight of them in his pocket from the letter. But he did his best by promising to honor her and to always show his love with his actions. He had a lifetime to do that now.

Bellamy wrestled the ring box out of the retrievers mouth and exchanged rings with Clarke.

And then they kissed.

"I now present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Bellamy Blake," the pastor said and Bellamy and Clarke beamed at each other, before turning to their friends. Bellamy could hear their friends' whoops and hollers in celebration; Raven's cheers the loudest of them all.

A tent had been set up in the yard and small plates and wine were brought out from the house. There was a dance floor in the middle, and twinkling lights hung all around.

Before the reception started, Bellamy and Clarke went back to the oak tree for pictures. The photographer snapped a few with them and their bridal party and family.

Later, Bellamy twirled his bride around and around on the dance floor. Everything and everyone seemed to melt away. It was just the two of them: he and his bride.

"You, Princess, look like a queen tonight," Bellamy whispered into her ear and Clarke smiled, before laying her head on his chest.

She didn't flinch at the nickname anymore. Not like she had the first time he said it when had they started dating. Finn had always called her princess, too, but out of spite, to remind her of her privilege. But when Bellamy called her princess, he was calling her his princess, his love. And he felt so much love for this amazing and strong woman. After all these years, he was still in awe of her.

They finally broke apart to mingle with their guests before the night endaed. Clarke was always better at that then he was and he felt cold at her absence when she left him on the dance floor. Before he could make his way over to his seat at the bridal party table, Raven approached him.

"Hey, Raven," Bellamy said as she stepped into his space for a dance.

"Bellamy," Raven smiled at him as he placed his hands on her waist gingerly, "I'm so happy for you guys. This whole day was magical."

"I know. Listen, I'm not going to say it again, because I've already thanked you, Wells, and Lincoln a million times in the last six years...but thank you for bringing me to Clarke." Bellamy looked down at Raven with all the gratitude he felt written across his features.

"You treat her right and we'll be all fine," she said sternly. It was a look he had received many times from the woman and his brother. They had seen Clarke at her worst and vowed never to let her get hurt like that again. Bellamy had no intention or thought of causing her pain like that though, as long as he lived.

"Who would have a thought you'd meet your future wife on a blind date, huh?" Raven joked and then asked, "So O's keeping Buddy for you while you're in Greece?"

"What?" He asked distracted by Clarke and Wells who were making their way towards him and Raven on the dance floor. "Yeah, Octavia is keeping him at her place."

"Octavia!" Raven snapped a finger by Bellamy's ear and he jumped, startled by the sharp noise.

And then he realized his mistake.

He let go of Raven and raised his hands up in defeat as Clarke and Wells danced up beside them. They both wore a look of confusion as Raven stomped away from him. She was beside herself, walking away and calling out his little sister by name.

"You told her?" Clarke's eyes shone brightly in the twinkling lights under the tent. She let go of Wells and reached for Bellamy. And Wells went after Raven who was chasing down Octavia. Bellamy could only laugh at the sight.

They had gone six years and seven days, without Raven Reyes learning Octavia's first name. It had become a running joke among their group.

Clarke joined him with her laughter as they watched Octavia and Raven fuss over the new revelation. Octavia was under the impression Raven had just liked calling her 'O' and couldn't believe her brothers had let it go on for so long. Octavia had a finger pointed at Wells and the poor guy tried his best to look ashamed, but he was failing at it miserably, his shoulders shook with laughter.

Suddenly the tempo of the music changed and the dance floor filled up with their family and friends, laughter and smiles on everyone's faces. Bellamy tightened his arms around his bride and swayed with the music, his heart was bursting with all the love surrounding him.

And after all his years of drifting, Bellamy Blake finally felt like he had found his home.

* * *

 _thank you so much for reading this little story of mine! let me know your thoughts and favorite lines!_


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